


no burden is he to bear

by remy (iamremy)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brother Feels, Brotherly Affection, Coda, Episode: s12e03 The Foundry, Gen, Post-Episode: s12e03 The Foundry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:03:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: Coda to 12x03 - The Foundry. Mary leaves, and neither Sam nor Dean know what to do with themselves. So they deal the only way they know how - together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out that seeing Sam sad is a good way of getting past writer's block. Huh. Who knew? 
> 
> (Me. I did.)
> 
> Anyway, this was written in a bit of a hurry, since I'm actually supposed to be studying for midterms right now, but oh well. When inspiration strikes, you shut up and go with it.
> 
> ~~I JUST WANT THEM TO BE THERE FOR EACH OTHER AND COMFORT EACH OTHER, OKAY.~~
> 
> Title is from _He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother_ by The Hollies.

The door slams. Sam flinches.

(There are tears pricking at the back of Dean’s eyes.)

Dimly, Dean wonders how Mary is going to travel. He’d have let her take the Impala, if she’d asked. He’d have given her anything, if she’d asked.

(His heart hurts.)

Sam is crying.

  


  


  


He’s not loud; in fact, if Dean hadn’t been looking at him he wouldn’t even have known. But he _is_ crying – tears making silvery tracks down his cheeks, lips pressed together so he doesn’t make a sound – and he's not looking at Dean, just staring at the floor, and it’s kind of killing Dean.

(Dean’s heart breaks)

But he doesn’t know what to say.

_Sorry Mom left?_

_Hey I know we just got her back and you’ve never had a mom, but she’s gone now._

_Hey we’ll get over it like we do everything else_.

“Hey,” he tries, and his voice gets stuck in his throat. “Hey,” he tries again, taking a step closer to Sam, who’s still looking at the ground and not even trying to stop the tears dripping down his face and off to the ground. “Sammy.”

Sam still doesn’t look up. His shoulders are shaking.

Dean does the only thing he can think of; he reaches forward and wraps his arms around Sam, pulls him in close and lets him rest his head on his shoulder. “She’ll come back,” he promises, throat dry even though his eyes are wet with unshed tears. He doesn’t even know that she will, but he can’t… can’t think of the alternative. She _has_ to.

He – _they_ – can’t lose her again.

Sam doesn’t say a word, just slumps against his brother and silently weeps into his shoulder.

(Dean’s heart is in pieces.)

  


  


  


They end up sitting shoulder to shoulder on Dean’s bed, backs against the headboard, just staring off into space. Dean’s beer is long-gone; Sam’s is still half-full and limp in his hand. It must be going on 3 AM by now, but sleep is the furthest thing from their minds. Neither can bear to be alone right now, anyway.

It’s Sam who breaks the silence, his voice hoarse with tears and lack of use. “Do you- do you think she’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” says Dean, going for optimistic and ending up sounding flat to his own ears. “I mean, it’s _Mom_. She was a hunter even before Dad was. She can look after herself.”

“Yes, I know, but.” Sam’s brow is furrowed, a little V between his eyebrows that Dean wants to press his thumb to and flatten out of existence. He’s never liked seeing Sam like this. “Do you think she’ll be _okay_?” Sam asks again.

Dean’s shoulders slump as he realizes what Sam means. “I don’t know,” he sighs. “But I hope so.”

“Does she even have our numbers?” Sam wonders out loud. His voice sounds brittle.

Dean closes his eyes, exhales slowly. “No.” The word is harsh. Cold. Lonely.

The headboard creaks, and he opens his eyes to see Sam slide down until he’s half-lying, half-sitting, his beer cradled against his side. It must be sickly-warm by now, not at all appetizing or even halfway drinkable. That’s okay. Dean doesn’t think either of them care about food or drink right now.

“I miss her.” Sam’s admission is quiet, his voice delicate around the words. “It feels like…”

“Losing her again,” completes Dean, just as quiet. “But we didn’t, okay? She’s alive, Sammy. She’ll come back when she’s ready.” Again with the promises. He wishes he didn’t feel like he’s digging his own grave, because what if she doesn’t-

No. _She has to_.

He feels a weight against his side – Sam’s head, resting against his arm. “Yeah,” Sam says, almost inaudible. “Yeah, she will.”

(Unspoken is the _We’ll have a mom again_ and Dean isn’t sure there’s anything left of his heart to break.)

He inhales deeply and then takes Sam’s beer from his limp fingers, putting it aside, and says, “Get some sleep, Sammy. It’s late.”

“Mm, okay.”

Dean waits.

Sam doesn’t move.

“Sam?” he says carefully.

“Dean, I—” Sam pauses, swallows, tries again. “Can I stay? It’s too quiet in my room, I just don’t want…”

 _To be alone right now_ , he doesn’t say, doesn’t need to. Dean gets it anyway.

“Stay,” he tells Sam roughly, and pats him on the cheek. “It’s okay.”

(They’re too big to share the bed and they know it. They don’t care.)

  


  


  


Dean doesn’t sleep. Hours after Sam’s dozed off, curled on his side with his head resting against Dean’s thigh, Dean remains awake, sitting up against the headboard, still staring off into space.

  


  


  


A few days earlier, when Sam was still recovering from the torture that bitch Toni had inflicted on him, Mary had come and sat next to him on the couch, and asked him how he was doing. He had smiled, and told her he was fine, and even though it was a lie she didn’t call him out on it.

Instead she had just smiled knowingly – and a little sadly – at him, and then put an arm around him and pulled him closer. He went willingly, God he would done anything she’d asked, and she let him lie down with his head in her lap. “You’re going to be okay,” she’d told him as she ran her fingers through his hair, her touch soft and gentle. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

“I’m tired,” he’d said, and he’d sounded it too, sounded so, so exhausted.

“I know, baby,” she’d said, voice so honey-sweet and soothing, and then she’d begun singing _Hey Jude_ , and he’d smiled and closed his eyes. He was asleep within minutes, but she didn’t stop singing.

Dean would’ve thought he’d be jealous, but he hadn’t been, even as he’d watched his mother sing the song she used to sing him, to his little brother instead. Sammy deserved this, he knew. Sam, of all people, deserved this, especially because he had never known his mother. Dean had had Mary for four years, but Sam had had her only for six months that he didn’t even remember. It had to suck ass.

He didn’t begrudge Sam the love that Mary had for him. He never could.

  


  


  


And he can’t now, not as he absently runs his fingers through Sam’s hair just like their mother had. He misses her so much already that it hurts like a nail hammered into his heart. And he knows Sam does, too.

It’s Sam his heart breaks for the most, if he thinks about it. Sam had only just gotten used to having a mother – hell, both of them, to be honest. But it was the first time in ages (that he could think of) that someone was hugging Sam like it was legally binding to do so at least once a day, that someone told Sam how much he was loved, how much he was wanted. Sam needed to hear those words. He knows that, always has. After everything Sam’s been through and then blamed himself for, he needs to know that there are people who love him, and would do anything for him. And Dean does his best to let Sam know, in the little gestures and banter and time spent together, but it means something entirely different coming from their mom.

Shit, he can’t even think what it must have been like for Sam while he was under that bitch’s thumb. Thinking Dean was dead and he was all alone in the world, thinking no one would come for him…

(His heart is nothing but pain.)

All he wants to do, when he thinks about that, is hold Sam and keep him close, keep him safe.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into the still air. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Sam stirs. He doesn’t wake, though, and Dean knows it’s because he’s feeling – well, safe, if not relaxed – and that’s why his mental shields are down. The only time he lets them fall is when he’s with Dean – and now Mary.

Mary, who they can’t call, whose voice they can’t hear anymore just for the sake of listening to it.

The tears spill. Dean doesn’t make any move to wipe them away. There is no point in it.

  


  


  


At some point in the night – he doesn’t know when – he finds himself singing softly, _Hey Jude_ , like it’ll somehow bring their mother back to them, but of course it won’t. What it _can_ do, maybe – he hopes – is provide Sam some measure of comfort, something he can hold on to until she comes back and sings it herself again. Dean can only hope.

So he sings to his sleeping brother, and he stays up the whole night with his cell phone besides him in the vain hope that his mother might somehow figure out a way to call.

But most importantly, he looks after Sam.

(His heart is numb now, but he thinks it will get better. Given time.)

  


  


  


She’ll come back. She has to.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you know, I absolutely _live_ off feedback. It'll sate me when I'm starving. So please, drop by a comment and let me know what you thought!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://chesterbennington.co.vu).
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


End file.
